


Written in the Stars

by OKami_hu, oksammich



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksammich/pseuds/oksammich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Guardian's pilot is not doing too well, and the doctor only stirs up a different kind of trouble. (Unfinished and abandoned, you've been warned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was a doctor who called himself Pitch Black. Even the attending physician, who watched grimly while Sandy's tiny fists stabbed the air, was unsure if this horrible name was real or not. In fact, he wasn't even sure that Doctor Pitch Black was still in the city. Something about being in trouble with the law, making powerful enemies--but honestly, Jack stopped listening as soon as he heard the name. He was too busy finding the doctor's last known location with Informant. That app was a godsent solution for a lot of problems, not a wonder you could even download some shady encrypted things for it, too. Sure enough, there was a Pitch Black located on the 22nd level, more commonly known as the Grave District. The last stop for many a corpse before being dumped on the 23rd, Grave District was home to mostly undertakers, embalmers, and looters, where death lingered just out of eyesight and shiny trinkets were worth far more than life itself. Doctor Black apparently rented a small space in the shadow a large crematorium, right on the edge of the residential block.

Sandy would've been afraid of someone like that, someone who planted himself right in the middle of so much sadness. Jack was afraid, too.

But as he stood inside the lift and watched the planet outside the glass growing progressively quieter and more lifeless, he knew that beyond all things, Sandy was afraid of the dark. The dark was exactly where the Dreamer was right now.

The lights of the city disappeared, and Jack was faced with the ghost of his own reflection staring back at him. He looked far more tired than he'd have liked. The thin young man in the glass frowned back at him, just a crease of pale lips in white skin, and he hated himself for not wearing a smile instead; he finally had the name of a man that might be able to save his friend. So why did he feel so uneasy?

As the lift shuddered to a stop and he stepped out into the lonely, grey streets, he decided that it was just reason nagging at him. It didn't make much sense for a doctor, someone who tried to save lives, to be in a place more suited for the dead. The physician on the 5th level also said something that bothered him--that Doctor Black was interested more in price than principle. Being trapped on this planet with a Mind-Locked pilot meant that he was limited to how much price he could barter with. He just hoped he caught the guy in a good mood.

Sparing only a careful glance to his surroundings, Jack checked his tiny datapad. The app marked the desired location with a golden dot, the fastest route outlined with a thin golden thread as well. He could’ve had it displayed on his visor, but he always found it distracting. 

He began marching forward with confident, even steps, trying to look like somebody who is formidable enough to not attract trouble. 

Whatever higher power was listening that day, it decided to humor him. Nobody tried to stop the skinny ice sprite, though he could feel several pair of eyes burning holes into his back. The doctor’s door was unmarked, perfectly inconspicuous; Jack had to count down doors to double-check the number. Taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly. The following silence made his throat burn, and the uncomfortable feeling crept down along his center to pool in his stomach. He knocked again, louder this time. 

The answer did not come from the expected direction. Jack sensed the dark presence behind his back and whirled around, pressing his back against the door. The tall figure was decked in a black hooded robe; a stray sliver of light glanced off golden eyes. The groceries bag in the gloved hands looked a little out of place though, but even the most vile creatures need to eat. If anything, it calmed Jack down a little bit; at least the other was flesh and blood, not some kinda supernatural menace. 

“Are you doctor Black?” the boy inquired, straightening up. The dark figure graced him with an aristocratic nod. 

“That would be me, yes. I suppose you seek my assistance, but unfortunately, my hours have ended, young sprite. Come back later, or find somebody else. This is a dangerous place for somebody so frail. You have wandered suspiciously far from Jorngar’s frosty planes.”

Jack blinked. He was dismissed and mildly insulted in the same breath, and he hadn’t even said anything. And Sandy needed help!

“You can’t be closed!” he declared vehemently. “We need your help, my friend is in trouble!”

"Stop shouting, young man.” The doctor’s calm wasn’t easily shaken. He stepped forward and gently brushed Jack aside. “I am closed. It happens.”

Jack could feel heat pressing at his temples. He grabbed the man’s wrist and tugged, nearly making him drop the bag. “Don’t do this, please! My friend could die if you don’t help him, and you can’t let that happen! Please, come with me right away..!"

" _Let go_ of my hand please,” the doctor snarled. Once he was released, he took a step back. “If there would be an imminent danger to the patient's life, you wouldn't have come for me. Take a deep breath, young sprite and maybe you could tell me what is your problem? Or the patient's, anyway."

"Sandy, his name is Sandy. He’s a telepath.” Jack’s breath hitched; he tried his best to calm down. “I'm sorry, sir, I'm just.. The physician we took him to said it might be Plague. We were traveling through the asteroid belt --he's our pilot--and there was a plasma storm. We got through when there was an energy surge and he suddenly dropped. H-he was shaking and his eyes were rolled back and he was tense and.. that was a few days ago and he still won't wake!"

The doctor, who was listening with his head tipped to the side a little, let out a chuckle. "The Plague.” The dark smile could be heard in his voice. “It's probably not it. You were navigating through the C-13 sector, right? Nasty place, lot of background vibration. Your friend probably shut off from it. I can take a look at him, but I don't work for cheap. On the other hand, I'm ninety-seven percent sure that I can safely rouse him. Or in case the remaining three percent, offer him a painless death."

"Yeah, that was it!” Jack generously ignored the sarcastic foreboding. “We were in C-13, so we were sure, but the doc said we passed through areas that might've had dormant Plague cells so it was likely he's infected-” He shook his head. “We'll pay anything. Please!"

"Calm down already - and on second thought, report that physician to the Board, he needs his license revoked. If it were the Shadow Plague, you'd know it, trust me. Especially after a few days. Two thousand credits."

Jack merely stared, dumbfounded. “Two thousa--?! Are you serious?” That was a rather high price. Sure, the Captain always seemed to have a secret bank account when a crisis hit, but all the crew knew that it was reserved for emergencies. They have lived on rations for days before, until securing another well-paying job. Captain North believed in the character-building effect of hardships. 

“If you don’t have enough, you’re merely wasting both of our precious time,” the dark man fished a card from his pocket, and swiped it down the lock. The red light on it blinked to blue, but the door remained closed. “Unless you can offer me...” he leaned close. Jack could make out some features in the shadow of the hood - wide-set golden eyes, high forehead and a nose reminiscent of a bird of prey’s deadly beak. “...some alternative payment of the same value.”

That did sound sort of alarming and somewhat... dirty. _This was sort of an emergency though._ Jack crossed his arms with a deep frown. “Fine. Just.. come on."

"You must like your pilot very much,” the doctor remarked. “I'll place this down and grab my bag. Forty-five seconds, I trust you can put up with that."

There was something unsettling about the man, whether it was his gait or voice or his menacing posture. Part of Jack wondered if this was really someone he wanted to allow near Sandy. “He’s a good guy,” he murmured to the long, slim back. Dreamers were able to pick up on ill will, which Sandy would definitely be able to spot with this man. “He’s never mean, always smiling... he’s so patient.”

His throat tightened as he waited outside, and in a nervous, childish habit, he tried to stuff his hands into the jacket he wore over his cryo-suit. Sandy had always seemed indestructible, even as small and harmless as he was. “No matter what, he’s there to give you a pat on the back or to support you in anything. He’s like family.”

Jack’s eyes burned, and he squeezed them shut to keep from making himself look like a fool. It didn’t matter what sort of man this Doctor Black was, as long as he could help Sandy.

He felt contact against his arm, as the “good” doctor headed out toward the street on long legs. With the hood over his face, he looked more like the Grim Reaper than some savior. “Lead the way, young sprite.”

“Jack,” he replied, turning around to lead the way back to the lift. 

“That’s a human name, and no self-respecting jorn would wear it,” the dark man mused. “You also have an active little brain. I’d expect something slower. You’re a rather curious creature.”

The words sent a shiver up his spine. “I have good human friends, thank you very much, and they have a difficult time with Jorun pronunciation. Not that it’s any of your business--” He picked up the pace, feet barely touching the ground. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder, where those eerie eyes would certainly be upon him. “--just like it’s none of your business to find out what’s going on inside my mind. I’d prefer you stay out until after you’ve helped him.”

"I'm not getting into your mind!” The doctor bristled. ”That's very unprofessional. You hired me because I'm the best telepath on this mudball. I can pick up brainwaves. Every creature releases them.” They reached a narrow pass and nearly ran into some huge lumbering humanoid creature who groaned at them. They squeezed past the slightly smelly half-giant and continued their way. Black threw a glance over his shoulder. “Well, those which have brains, anyway." 

It was a miracle no one had snapped this guy like a twig and left him in a fire pit somewhere. Jack rolled his eyes, entering his temporary passcode for the first class commercial docks. “Yeah, you’re the best on the planet, but he’s the best in the universe.” The doors slid together, the entire lift shuddering before it began to slide toward the 25th level. “You’ll be impressed: he’s never mentioned being able to pick up on brainwaves but he always seems to know when one of us is hurt or upset. Must be useful.”

On the way down, he didn’t have much company, so he assumed that on the way up, it would be much the same. Now was better than never.. “Look, um.. I’ll give you 1000 credits, if the offer still stands for, uh.. alternative payments.” Jorns did not blush easily, but it was happening now, with a small borealis of red dancing over his cheeks. “In addition, I can spend the night with you or.. whatever you want to do.”

There was a moment of odd silence, then the doctor started chuckling. The sound was surprisingly light and heartfelt instead of this previous snarky behavior; the laughter sounded nice. He held up a hand, before Jack could have said anything. “Well well, that’s a fine prize indeed! I’m curious how that friend of yours managed to win you over to this extent... you’re willing to prostitute yourself for his sake. It’s a brave thing, considering you haven’t even seen who you’re dealing with.” He reached up and drew the hood back, revealing a sharply angled, long face with skin like ash stretching over prominent cheekbones.

Jack didn’t want to look at that face, but he couldn’t help himself. Like a tiny fish before the jaws of the shark, he wanted to stare at the grinning fangs of his doom. Dr. Pitch’s eyes were bright, like molten gold or colliding stars. “Am I supposed to be intimidated?” His voice didn’t waver. That was good. “I’ll do anything for him, because he’d do the same for me.”

He drew himself up to full height, even if he was still shorter than Pitch. He’d never seen anyone who looked like him before, but the eyes were oddly familiar. “So.. how do you want to do this?”

A dark brow lifted slightly above the shining eyes and the doctor pulled his hood back. “Don’t make me laugh. I may be a criminal and death-dealer, but I do not take advantage of children. I hope that you can collect the money, because your body won’t buy my services.”

“I am not a child. As smart as you are, you should know--” He stopped himself from going on a tirade, as Sandy was depending on him. He’d hold off until this guy was paid and gone, then he’d spill to North or unload on Mund with a spar. Jack let out an annoyed sigh. “You were the one who brought it up.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, with the dark stranger standing with statuesque, impassive beauty and the Jorn hunched over with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The glass lift rose high over the tops of buildings, into the space docks situated just over clouds swirled in lavender and light blue. It settled to a smooth halt in the private docks, where the Guardian was situated at the far end of the pier. “This is it.”

“Nice ship," the doctor commented absent-mindedly. The Guardian indeed was in a rather good shape. North considered that a priority - unless it compromised the crew’s basic well-being. Properly refueled and prepared, it was only waiting for the pilot to wake.

“It’s Captain North’s pride and joy.” Jack wanted to grab Doctor Black and physically drag him to the ship, but he kept his hands to himself. Hope burned hot in his chest, that finally they’d have their Sandy back. “It’s a long-distance runner, built completely by North, and--”

“Oi! Hurry up!”

For once, he was relieved to hear the Pooka’s impatient voice barking over the length of the dock. Bunnymund was bouncing on the toes of his implants, tips of his ears glowing bright green--he’d probably heard them talking from the 20th level, thanks to his newest upgrade. Jack’s relief was short-lived, however, when he realized just why the First Mate was out waiting for them.

Ignoring his earlier concerns, he took hold of Doctor Black’s wrist and ran. “He’s gotten worse?!”

Mund made an inarticulate noise, intense eyes darting between the both of them. “Yeah. Get in here.”

They were greeted by Tooth’s desperate cry, followed by the sound of glass shattering over the floor. After a hurried trip through the commons, Jack pushed the doctor through the infirmary doors. “Oh... Sandy..”

The tiny Dreamer thrashed in the middle of the floor, his hands curled into tight fists and his face tensed into what Jack perceived to be pain. A syringe gun laid near him, leaking bright sedative onto the floor; each time Tooth or their greying captain North tried to approach him, Sandy lashed out with surprising violence. Jack nudged Doctor Black with his elbow. “Do your thing, doc.”

The dark man wasn’t moving though. He just stared, clutching the strap of his bag. "That's- That's a Dr- You never mentioned it being a Dreamer!” He gingerly touched his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. "I must be getting old. And I'm getting out!" He stressed his words with a dismissive wave of his gloved hand. “Find somebody else. I won't have anything to do with a Dreamer!" The aura of firm rejection and anger was almost tangible around him. Telepaths only projected their feelings when they intended to, or momentarily lost control over their abilities. Seeing Sandy obviously made the doctor very upset.

The shock hit Jack like a slap to the face. Manners be damned, he had to save Sandy! “W-wait!”

He took hold of one frail wrist and jerked the slim doctor back around to face him. “You said it yourself that you were the best! I told you we would pay you, so why won’t you help us?!”

“Dreamers aren’t dangerous, bloke,” Mund added, his disgust evident on his face, “A good doctor would know that.”

"I'm sorry, but the Dreamers and I have a longstanding grudge,” Doctor Plack declared vehemently. His shoulders were tense. “He wouldn't like me to help him, trust me. There are others that can do that for you!” He turned to flee but immediately bumped into something rock hard with a surprised ‘unf’. Upon closer inspection, the obstacle proved to be a very tall, broad-shouldered, greying human in a red tunic - Captain North himself. 

Everybody present and conscious was staring at him. Mund was still trying to hold Sandy down. The large man looked at Black, then the pilot with tired bright blue eyes. He let out an exhausted sigh, and dipped his head, peering into the shadows under the doctor’s hood. “How much?”

Desperation caused Jack’s voice to hitch. “He’s already taking us for everything we’ve got, Captain!”

He was silenced by North holding his hand up. He didn’t look at the sprite, instead kept staring at the doctor. “Name your price."

"I've asked for two thousand,” the dark man rambled a little nervously, “but really, I'm sorry for wasting your time, I'm not going to touch a Dreamer. It's not that s-"

"We'll double it. Whatever you want. I don't care how high the price is--you can take anything you want, but please help him."

Black held up his hand in protest, opening his mouth to counter; then he belatedly realized just what was said. "Four thousand. You- must really... love your pilot, Captain." He pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped. "Four thousand. Four... thousand.” He took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll do it. Give him just one milligram of Anlyth, it'll calm him in a few seconds. No arguments, I know what I'm saying. Get him off that table and take him somewhere comfortable. Yes, you can watch if you'd like... I can't believe I'm doing this..."

The captain’s tired face relaxed into an expression of relief. His huge hands circled Sandy’s shoulders and pushed down, effectively pinning him on his back; Mund held onto his ankles, which made the Dreamer immobile long enough for Tooth to grab her syringe gun. “Anlyth by itself?” she gaped, her tiny fingers drumming over a single glass bullet full of off-white fluid, “It’s dangerous if it isn’t diluted--”

“Just listen to him,” Captain North answered with the utmost patience. Jack’s throat was tight. It felt so unreal that two people might be needed to keep gentle, sweet Sandy still for an injection. Suddenly, the Dreamer jerked hard, nearly kicking Mund in the face.

Mund grunted and snapped out: “Jack!”

His brow furrowed, and he moved to hold Sandy around his waist. The delicate female looked back and forth between Doctor Black and their leader; when Black offered no changes to his instructions, she flitted to Sandy’s side. “I’m so sorry.”

A tiny needle pierced Sandy’s skin. After a click, the rigid muscles fighting in his body went lax; a soft sound curled from their pilot’s lips, a sigh and an appreciative cry all at once. “Let’s get him to his room,” Captain North said softly, hoisting Sandy up into his arms like he was made of glass.

The Dreamer’s small head tipped into his chest. Part of Jack wished that they hadn’t administered the sedative, because at least Sandy looked like he was still alive while he was thrashing around. Now, he was limp, like the life had been sucked from his tiny body. 

“After you, doc.” North and Toothiana climbed the steps to the residential level; Mund had stayed behind Pitch, probably to make sure he didn’t run for it. Jack loved the paranoid, insufferable Pooka with all of his heart at the moment.

\-------------------------

Upon first impression, the room was dark. But you know what they say about first impressions.

In the blink of an eye, the darkness was no more.The room was an oasis for a Dreamer, draped in soft, gold fabric and lit from below with ground-level lights that casted all in a hazy glow. There were large pillows like islands in a black sea, surrounding a large circular bed that was covered in beautiful blankets and piled high with even more soft, inviting-looking pillows. Sheer fabric was attached to areas of the ceiling, twisted into lazy trails like comets streaking across the sky. 

Pitch looked around and couldn’t help his shoulders sagging. He hated everything about the room, the crew, and that pesky little Dreamer as well. But four thousand credits were four thousand credits. 

“Just keep quiet,” he told the small crowd at the door as he shrugged his bag off. The dark synthetic leather was like a blemish on a sun’s surface as it lay on the soft carpet. Pitch settled down on his heels, grabbed a pillow to put it under the pilot’s upper back and pulled the golden head into his lap. He pried off his gloves and gently ran his long fingers over the smooth forehead, letting his eyes flutter shut for better concentration. 

Getting the first impression wasn’t hard at all; he had seen cases like this before. "Yees- yes, right. Just as I thought." He cupped the wee face and took a deep breath, already sinking into a light trance. "He'll be fine. C-13 used to be a death route, many ships perished there before it got cleaned up. The darkness lingers and it got to your little Dreamer's head. He shut himself off from the world. I'm going to tell him it's okay to come out.” He smiled a bit as he reached out to gently trace the Dreamer’s starbright mind with his own.

There was a relieved little cry from somewhere in the posse, as Sandy's features relaxed almost instantly. His mind opened up, as if craving the touch of another. There was uncertainty and hesitation, but amidst it all was curiosity. Light and warmth radiated out toward Pitch’s touch, but stopped short of contact. The Dreamer was still unsure.

There was a bit of movement, barely rippling over Pitch's mind like wind from butterfly wings. Visually, Sandy's mind manifested as a sky full of colorful stars, stretched out over a painted golden desert. It seemed as if life was hiding under the sand, two amber eyes watching from just out of sight.

Pitch, not wanting to reveal himself took the shape of a cool wind, caressing the sand, stirring it up gently. He flitted over the planes barely touching down; he already knew the unconcealed truths and facts about this Dreamer and knew that if he scared him, Sandy would merely lock himself in deeper. Not that he had the chance to stand against a much more powerful telepath, but Pitch didn’t want to give the impression that he didn’t do everything for his money.

“ _Hey there, little one,_ ” he whispered without actual words. “ _I know that you’re hiding, but it’s safe to come out now. The danger passed, there’s no more pain. You’ve been in here for quite a while, your body needs your care, and your friends are waiting. Come. Come out. I’ll lead you if you need me to._ ” He spoke like a parent, vibrating with reassurance and warmth.

There were a few moments of silence, but Pitch knew he was not alone. His gaze emerged, manifesting as teardrop-shaped petals on the breeze. They touched him, swirled in the wind he offered, and began to dip toward the sands.

_You’re beautiful._

The curiosity turned to joy; petals turned to wings, wings turned into butterflies. They twisted up toward the sky and spread out like small hands, stroking and sliding and caressing and moving. They wanted him to be solid. This Dreamer wanted to touch his face and see him, his joy almost heart-breaking. Chimes rang soft and sweet in his ears, words that turned to music and bared so much happiness that it nearly drowned out the loneliness that lingered behind.

_Are you like me? You feel so much like home!_

“ _Do not think of me,_ ” Pitch managed to radiate. The light and joy was choking him. “ _Your place is outside, not inside. Don’t lock yourself up in your Sanctuary. It’s not yet time for that._ ” He hesitated for a moment. “ _I’m but a shadow of your home. I know you miss it, but you have a new home outside where your friends long to welcome you. You don’t want to make them sad, right?”_

He was able to simultaneously sense the crew - the captain was like a majestic mountain, firm, grounded and stable. The ice sprite swirled like a blizzard, hope and worry glittering in him and an indestructible energy. The pooka was all shadows and mud, tainted by poison but at the core, purity still glowed. And the bird-woman radiated love and warmth, her wishes soaring like prayers, invoking nothing but health and harmony.

The movement around them stopped, butterflies and glittering stars freezing in place. 

_My friends…_

Slowly, the tiny wings faded, crumbling to golden dust to join the sea of sand below. Pink, blue, and green swirled thoughtfully, sending unending sensations of touch and feel straight into Pitch’s own mind.

_I saw all of those faces and I--_

The desert darkened, vibrant colors fading to shades of red and dark brown. 

_Crying voices, pain--_

The lazy shapes became linear, streaking through sand like they were made by claws.

_There was so much sadness._

Again, the movement stopped.

_They’re not trapped inside that horrible place, are they?!_

“ _No. They are long free. They only left the hurt behind. It’s like a ghost image, static noise. It’s scary, but it shouldn’t get past your shields._ ” He couldn’t help but lightly chastise the other for not taking precautions. “ _You needn’t worry for them. Their suffering was brief._ ” He was patient; the pilot suffered quite a blow and he needed to reassure himself, to work it out.

A breeze brushed against his own.

_My friends are waiting._

It tossed around delicate, golden sand, forming a harmless vortex between the both of them. He could smell sugar and jasmine, soothing heat against his mind like it was produced by its very own sun.

_Will you take me to them?_

_You’re so beautiful..._

_Why are you so sad?_

_I don’t want to be alone anymore._

_Please, take me to my friends._

_Be my friend too._

_Please take me to my friends..._

_Please..._

It was the gentlest descent he’d ever experienced. Rather than being fully torn from this Dreamer’s mind or having the link suddenly severed, Pitch Black was lowered back to reality as easily as waking from an afternoon’s dream. He opened his eyes.

Warm amber stared back, sunlight on a lazy summer’s day. Sandy smiled at him.

For a few seconds, the doctor wasn’t able to move. There was feeling and sensation, indescribable but easily understandable, and the memories that assaulted him momentarily rendered him immobile. But it didn’t last long; he stirred and pulled the hood deeper into his face. He eased himself out from under the pilot in a polite hurry and stood up, fetching his gloves and seizing his bag. 

“Your pilot is good as new, he just needs a little tender loving care. I think in twenty-four standard hours, he’ll be able to get you out of here. I’d advise avoiding the C-13 sector though. I’ll be just outside until you welcome him and gather my payment-”

Thankfully, the crew converged on the tiny Dreamer immediately. There was so much emotion flying around: fear, worry, relief, curiosity, happiness, joy, exhaustion--so much. It crackled through the air like electricity, swirled around him in a fog, buzzed through his ears...

If he just got away, he wouldn’t have to answer any questions. He would collect his credits and bury himself in his clinic on the 22nd level. Or perhaps he would change planets, aim for someplace with more silence.

His heart rate spiked and he gasped for breath as he fled. It wouldn’t be much longer--

_Wait!!!_

A voice he didn’t want to know rang out in his head, bells and chimes and tinkling glass, and he knew without seeing that the Dreamer was struggling to his feet.

“Sandy, what are you doing?!” cried the female, “You can’t..!”

_Don’t go!_

_Please don’t go!_

Behind his mental shields, Pitch cursed quietly. He knew that if he tried to go, the Dreamer would follow and the crew will get anxious, annoyed and rather persistent in keeping him here. He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. 

“ _We have nothing to do with each other, Dreamer._ ”

Tear-filled amber eyes stared back at his. The boy was smaller than he’d realized, barely standing higher than the female’s shoulders. He somehow fought through his lethargic limbs and reached, tiny hands spreading wide. One palm, warmer than the skin of most beings, touched his wrist.

_You’re like me! You’re a Dreamer too!!_

Pitch snatched his hand away, with more force than he intended to; he immediately heard a growl from the captain. The crew towered behind the pilot, like a massive protective wall. 

The boy seemed to follow Dreamer tradition, speaking telepathically, so Pitch returned the favor. At least he’d be able to insult the brat without the others throttling him. “ _I am not of your kind. Rest and heal, and I’ll be on my way._ ”

_You are--I felt it, you’re like me.._

Sandy wouldn’t back away. Despite the differences in their sizes and strengths, the creature approached him again with his hand held out. Pitch felt nothing but hope radiating from his bright mind, tendrils of light prodding at the outermost boundaries of his mind in a likely attempt to re-establish their link.

_I haven’t seen another Dreamer in so long! Please don’t go!_

_“Last warning, youngster. You don’t want me to stay. You don’t want me in your mind and on your ship. Your friends are pissing themselves from worry and I have better things to do. You are mistaken. I’m not a Dreamer._ ”

To his satisfaction, there was actual hesitation. The soft touch withdrew, and before him, the young Dreamer looked visibly stricken with uncertainty. 

Pitch would be able to escape.

So he thought.

At once, he was assaulted again; a little hand pushed into his own and his mental defences were gently stroked with all the innocent adoration that a naive creature could provide. A smile spread over that stupid, fat face, and in his mind he heard only one word:

_No._

Something snapped inside. After so many years, somebody just had to pry. A stupid kid just had to be ignorant, digging in dark places. Pitch twirled around and with one move, he pushed his hood back. 

“ _This is what you want? To see this face, touch this hand?!_ ” 

The golden eyes and dark ash skin were completed by black hair and the same pointy ears as Sandy’s. In the background, North gasped loudly. Pitch could clearly hear the captain’s thoughts. 

Shadow Plague!

The boy clapped his free hand over his mouth, eyes wide in terror. He felt it slam against his mental shields as well, rolling thunder that crushed the delicate tendrils of light. The fear was bittersweet, so potent that it was almost intoxicating. This Dreamer would have much to learn, for he shared his feelings as easily as non-telepaths made facial expressions or changed a tone of voice.

That freakish Pooka, swearing loudly, approached from behind and took hold of Sandy’s shoulder. “Get away, mate! Ye’ll be infected for real this time.”

“ _Yes, run away before I spoil your pretty little dreams,_ ” Pitch sneered, a satisfied smirk sliced across his face. It had been a long time since he was able to bare everything, so the anticipated disgust was welcome. This was why he didn’t deal with Dreamers.

Yet...

Yet, the lad shrugged the paw from his shoulder, drew in a breath, and with his eyes locked bravely to Pitch’s, shoved his hand forward again. The voice, softer now, more fearful now, repeated that maddening word for the second time:

_No._

Pitch launched at the golden mental shields with barely contained fury. “ _I am everything that you loathe and fear!_ ” he yelled, still with his mind only - outsiders could only see his wide gestures, clenched teeth and blazing eyes. “ _I hate your cursed kind! They gave me nothing but pain, they cast me out and now you just have to be stubborn and pry, trying to get me to unleash a torrent of darkness on you! You even failed to pass an ancient deathzone! Do you want to lose your mind for good, your Sanctuary burned?!_ ” His dark fingers curled up like claws. “ _If you insist, I can do that for you!_ ”

The recipient backed away, flinching physically like he’d been struck. However, his tiny, stupid little hand was _still_ curled around his fingers, _still--_

The captain finally stepped forth. “I can recognize the symptoms, since I had the Plague myself... But by all reasoning, you should be dead by now. Please explain, doctor.” He was not commanding, merely asking. 

Pitch huffed and shook his head. “You don’t need to worry, I do have the Plague, but in my case, it’s not contagious. Please don’t ask why, the only answer I have is that I’m special. Your Dreamer will not suffer harm in my presence. Unless he insists on being a nuisance.” 

The female circled ‘round to block their pilot from view, kneeling before him perhaps to check him over. “Are you all right, Sandy?” A pause, then she rounded on him, her luminescent wings buzzing rapidly behind her. “What did you do to him?!”

An unnatural amount of wetness betrayed the Dreamer’s other physical responses to Pitch’s wrath, but still, he’d managed to paste on a horrifically adorable little grin that would easily fool those untuned to emotions. He waved his small hand dismissively, giving the girl a gentle pat on her leg with one pudgy palm.

“I think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you left, doc,” the Pooka put in, moving to stand beside his Captain and dropping a paw on his shoulder, “We’ll send your payment.”

“I must agree with you,” Pitch replied sourly. “Unless you actually have to sell something to round up the sum, I’ll be expecting it on my account in twenty-four standard hours. Trust me, I do not seek to cause trouble, and I’d be the happiest to leave your fine ship as soon as possible.” He pulled out a small, sleek datapad from his bag to share the necessary information. Jack stepped forth to handle the bargain and North used the time to kneel down and hug Sandy. 

“It’s good to have you back, little one,” he smiled at the pilot. “And remember that you can always come to us if something is bothering you.”

As Pitch waited for the transfer to finish loading, he saw the lad’s wide eyes fixed directly on him. No malice, no anger, just hurt feelings and a dose of disappointment shone in their gaze.

No one saw him to the exit, as he preferred, but it would have been just as well that their Dreamer followed after with one hand curled around the hem of Pitch’s shirt. For the first time in many a cold, dreary year, he was given a warm, traditional Thanks. All of Iridia’s good little girls and boys were raised to properly thank their visitors by sharing warmth and gratitude upon their leaving. It was a parting gift, filled with appreciation, wrapped in blessings for a safe trip home, and tied with the hope of a swift return. This naive little lad was no exception. As soon as Pitch was free from the shadow of the Guardian, he felt the Thanks warm him from the inside out with all the bittersweet ignorance that a child could possess.

There was no home for him. Not anymore.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

Something like that was crossing his mind when approximately twenty hours later, he was walking through the docks in a rather hurried pace. As much as an excellent telepath he was, he couldn’t foresee the future; and he would have never expected the authorities to find him this soon. At least he sensed their intentions as he was returning home and avoided the trap set for him. But now he was in dire need of transport. Preferably as fast as possible and as far as possible. 

His eyes were darting between the different ships owned by representatives of at least two dozen different species. He almost halted when he spotted the _Guardian_ ’s shining hull. It was still here? It looked ready to depart any minute - Pitch suspected they were waiting for their pilot to recover from the lack of several days’ worth nutrition and water. The feathered girl looked smart enough though, so she probably had everything under control...

Pitch gritted his teeth. He needed to disappear fast. There was a bounty on his head; not that much, but it could have been tempting to any ship owner. Except maybe one. 

He reached out with his mind, pinpointing a Dreamer’s golden gleam easily and carefully tapped at the shields. “ _Little one... I could use a little help._ ”

The shields tightened, thickening to the touch. Of course he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with such a cruel man, not after Pitch had rebuffed any attempts made to interact. He forced himself to keep hoping for the impossible, however, and picked up the pace toward the beautiful ship. 

There was silence, just as there had been for years now. No touch answered him, no sweet voice grating through his mind, simply because Pitch Black willingly severed the lad’s delicate golden tendrils. Before him, the runship gave a shudder--from a closer distance, he was able to see that it had been in the process of lifting off right as he entered the private docks.

_Had._

Golden light spilled onto the causeway as the passenger ramp slowly descended. It left quite a gap for him to try and cross, made even more hazardous by the feedback from the engines, but he had little to worry about.

“Hurry up!” cried the thin, boyish whelp of a Jorn, with one arm extended and another wound around a bar back inside of the ship. 

Pitch gritted his teeth. He’d never hear the end of it, he knew that, but either this, or the rather eager law enforcers. He let his mind free, using all his power to secure the escape and thus enhanced, he easily reached the ramp. Jumping wasn’t an issue either; he just hoped nobody noticed the very obviously telekinesis-aided stunt. 

Once he grabbed the grinning sprite’s hand and was standing securely on his feet, he nodded. “Thank you. Now, if that is alright with you, I’d like to speak to your captain.”

“Sure, sure.” The ramp slid closed behind them, hiding both men from the planet and its police force. Around them, the ship was warm and purred like a contented lover, though she was nowhere near as rickety or prone to trembling as other vessels Pitch had been so privileged to ride upon. “He’s been waiting, you know. About thirty minutes ago, he suddenly got out of bed and started up the Guardian.”

For some reason, Pitch doubted heavily that the boy was referring to Captain North.

They ascended to the cockpit, where the broad human was busy with the controls. It would’ve taken a blind man to meet the hate-filled stare shot from the First Mate’s seat. “Cap? He’s here.”

Pitch countered the death glare with ease, backing it with just a touch of an intimidating impulse. He focused on North then, bowing his head briefly but respectfully.

“Thank you for taking me on board. In case your plan wasn’t kicking me out on the airlock as soon as we breach the atmosphere, I must warn you that I am wanted by the authorities. I will not blame you if you hand me out to them, should they catch up. However, if you are willing to tolerate a passenger on board, I am ready to pay for my ticket. Wherever you’re heading, I will depart once we land, given that it’s a spaceport, and you’ll never see me again.”

“Bunnymund?” 

“I got it, Cap. Do your thing.” The Pooka flipped a few switches, likely taking over controls as his captain turned to face Doctor Black. His strong hands folded over his stomach, blue eyes twinkled up at him and thick lips tugging into a soft grin. 

“My First Mate has a landspeeder competition on Chrysion-5, about 72-hours out. We’re a commercial vessel, so we’ll have plenty of space for you.”

“What about fare, Cap?” That wretched Pooka spoke up again. Pitch could feel the smugness dripping from his voice. “Isn’t it normally four thousand credits for a 72 hour trip?”

Pitch’s left eye twitched. It’s not that he didn’t know this was going to happen. He tipped his head back just a bit, peering down at the pooka. “I do happen to have that much on me.”

North laughed, his rich voice booming in the small space. “Tell you what. Jack will pass you my account number and you can transfer as much as you want.” His eyes were full of honest merriment. “We announce every meal and passengers eat with the crew and get the same food. You can take your meal to your room but no room service and no cleaning. If you do anything that displeases us, we’ll let you know. Cabins have their own small showers, use the water reasonably. Welcome on board the _Guardian_!” He offered his hand. Pitch took it. As skin touched skin, he suddenly realized that the captain had mental shields - primitive and weak, but they were there. 

“Thank you, captain. I hope that the journey will be uneventful but entertaining.”

“Right.” North nodded with a smile. “Now go see Sandy. You probably have a lot to talk about.”

\--------------------------------------------

The door was open for him. As he drew near, he felt a furtive touch over his mind, which pulled away as quickly as it arrived. It was like being back inside his Sanctuary, with a shy gaze just out of his peripheral vision. 

Sandy, their Pilot and the current bane of Pitch’s existence, laid in the center of a pillow with his eyes closed. Around them, fabric and golden chimes swayed on an artificial breeze; the faint smell of incense wrapped around him, too, finally identifying where the source of jasmine came from. 

His golden hair was damp, and beneath his head, the fabric was drying from where he’d probably laid down immediately after a shower. He wore a huge, fluffy robe, its size comical in comparison to his small fingers (which could barely grip a cuff). 

_Bless the stars for your safe return._

“I did not come for your sake, neither from my own will,” Pitch remarked dryly. He stayed at the door, in the vain hope that the Dreamer just wanted to say hello. “I have to thank you for your consideration though. I could have gotten into deep trouble without your help.” He sent a wave of gratitude toward the boy. Pitch would have been the first to admit that he was a rotten bastard, but he still had manners, honor and dignity.

The resulting acceptance was dizzying. Strong arms seemed to reach right into his body, circling his very core with so much affection that it physically took his breath away. He’d never known a Dreamer so desperate to share his emotions, so unconcerned with his own vulnerability. “Stop!”

Wide eyes slid open, revealing a depth of calculation that didn’t fit so delicate a face. 

_Why are you afraid of me?_

“Afraid-?” Pitch forced his hand down - his body physically reacted to the impulse, trying to shield his core, the pit of his stomach. “I’m not afraid.” That was a pathetic lie but Pitch still kept hoping. “I have done and witnessed terrible things, and I don’t want you to see them. They’d break you.” He was deliberately using physical speech, not wanting to project anything, aside maybe some sarcasm. “You are way too young to understand the extend of true darkness. You couldn’t deal; your shields could use some work, and you don’t even possess half an average Dreamer’s abilities. You shouldn’t play with fire, child.” 

A piercing gaze answered him, disbelief crowding the sweet butterfly kisses that battered incessantly for entrance. Slowly, the small body sat up and settled cross-legged. He looked up at Pitch, so very tiny but so very, very fearless.

_We cannot be strong alone._

Hands slid down his cheeks, though the child never moved. His round face still held an unwavering, gentle smile.

_You can make me stronger._

_I felt your sadness. You wouldn’t show yourself to me, but I knew you were beautiful._

_Sit with me._

For all of his youth, this wretch was certainly persistent.

With a world-weary sigh, Pitch moved closer, filching a pillow and sitting down on it at the foot of the bed. Since he was shown to his room earlier, he parted from his hooded cloak, so his simple but elegant clothes were visible. The jacket was short, with sleeves barely reaching the elbows; an arched piece of metallic gold patch adorned the front, the zipper cutting it into half. The plain black shirt and the pants were tight, revealing just how skinny the tainted Dreamer was. Golden bangles encircled the thin wrists and a golden locket was hung around the slender throat. 

Pitch glared, less intensely than he would have liked; but this was a mere child before him. Young and stubborn; but Pitch was stubborn as well. “Strength comes to you in time.”

_So does ruin._

Sandy leaned back in his pillow, small feet bobbing up parallel with his head. To their side, his door slid closed, leaving them both in the surreal glow of the Dreamer’s safe haven. 

_I know you’re very powerful--it’s so tiring just to understand your emotions!--but we never do well alone._

Laughter jingled soft between his ears. The artificial breeze picked up to add the sound of chimes to the inner melody. 

_How long has it been since you last saw another Iridian? You’re the first I’ve seen in nearly seven years._

There was a pause, during which Pitch felt fingers kneading at his thoughts. 

_It feels like you’ve been alone for much longer._

“Eighteen years,” Pitch admitted after a pause, wondering why he even shared this information. “That’s when I was exiled. I think it’s been four years I last saw a Dreamer... But I don’t talk to them.” It vaguely felt like an interrogation, and it made Pitch’s skin crawl. He was expecting to sooner or later see the same horrified expression on the boy’s face as he saw on the Iridian constable’s. 

There was a shift in expression, but it changed to one of sorrow, not fear. His small brow knitted, pudgy cheeks puffing out as he struggled to sit up properly. 

_Eighteen years?!_

He broke a rule when he lurched forward. Small hands gripped both of Pitch’s and began to squeeze. All pretenses of personal boundaries were simply ignored by a soft, portly creature who seemed determined to do what the Plague could not. 

_When is the last time you Melded? Are you all right?!_

This Sandy had definitely been raised in a traditional Dreamer household, as he paid it no mind when the oversized robe slid open to reveal the chubby form underneath. He rested his hands on Pitch’s broad shoulders and squeezed. 

Melding... the perfect unison of two Dreamer minds, the lovemaking that did not touch the bodies yet overwhelmed them... The most intimate bond where two individuals bared their souls and let them embrace. The pain flared up sharply in Pitch’s stomach, as the memory of a beautiful face framed by tresses of spun gold emerged from where he kept it buried deep. 

He pried the boy off himself and gently shoved him back. “ _It’s been long, too long, but I’m fine. Don’t worry. I have managed and I will manage for another eighteen years. I’m a doctor, remember?”_

_I remember._

Surprisingly, there was no resistance this time. The young Dreamer didn’t press forward, but he didn’t climb down from the bed, either. Sympathy brushed itself against him with a sigh and a whisper. While their people were a pacifist race, Pitch had never encountered one so concerned with another’s well-being before.

_If it becomes too much, you can Meld with me._

He tasted innocence like a sweet wine in the back of his throat. Without needing to be told, he knew this boy had no inclination as to exactly what he was offering.

_It’s the least I can do, since you saved my life._

“ _You don’t owe me anything. I have received my payment,_ ” Pitch shook his head. “ _You don’t even have the slightest idea what you’re offering. You’re too young to have ever Melded. Stop being so nice. Stop trying to save me._ ”

Relief washed over him, though it was tinged at the corners by a touch of sadness. So Pitch had been right--this delicate, golden ball of a creature was every bit the traditional Dreamer child. He spent decades preparing himself for the Dreamcatching, turning his focus inward until his power was primed and ready. Yet, for all his preparation, the lad’s innocence would be his downfall. 

_You’re right. I don’t understand._

His lips tweaked, and finally Pitch was allowed the space he desired. _You dislike me just because I’m a Dreamer, right?_

“ _Yes. The Dreamers made me into who I am now. And I also don’t like you because you’re weak. Too trusting, too vulnerable. Seven years of no contact with another Dreamer should have taught you patience at least._ ” Pitch’s thoughts rang coldly in Sandy’s mind. “ _Come to think of it, why are you even here? You should be with others, or sleeping in stasis, back at Iridia._ ”

There was a moment of silence between them. 

_I can’t help anyone if I’m asleep._

A stupid smile spread out over the boy’s chubby face. Pride radiated from him in soft bursts of energy. 

_I know I’m not very strong, but before you saved me, I thought I was the only Dreamer left in the galaxy who was still awake._

Pitch was plagued with glimpses of pink and violet skies, streaked with soft clouds and glistening stars, a sea rolling beneath that reflected the heavens above. Bare, fat toes in sand, short fingers around shells that sparkled like jewels, salt thick in the humid air...

_have to try. I want to save them._

“ _Small colonies are still out there,_ ” Pitch corrected, ever the precise one. “ _A handful of Dreamers, decked in airtight suits, looking for the cure. I wonder if they figured it out yet. You can’t do anything for them. Nobody can. The Pookas could do them a favor and just put them out quietly._ ” He carefully pushed the images from his mind. They boy was excellent at making Pitch suffer without knowing or meaning it. 

_But I don’t want to die.._

Sandy looked down at his bare lap. He was trying not to let Pitch upset him and was failing miserably, as his fear was palpable, thick as ink. 

_You must be tired. Do you have a room yet?_

“ _I have one, yes. It’s surprisingly nice._ ” Pitch rose, stretching his long legs. “ _You should rest as well, and eat properly. Your body has been missing sustenance for days, and you still don’t look healthy enough._ ” He paused for a moment. “ _I’d rather if you were able to pilot this ship to the best of your abilities._ ”

 _I’ll do my best._ The lad slid to his feet too, tugging his robe around his pudgy belly. _I’ll walk you to your room._

Pitch sighed and thanked for the offer with a small bow. These were going to be the longest three days of his life. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was late and the Dreamers were both catching up on some much-needed rest. The remaining crew needed to sleep, too, but there were battles yet to be fought.

"I ain't gonna argue with ya, Tooth." The doors to the common room slid open, and on carefully-calibrated toes, E. Aster Bunnymund stalked toward one of the man sofas. "A passenger is a passenger, and I'm chargin' fare."

"He's not -just- a passenger, and you know it!" she retorted, her dainty feet a few inches above the ground as her wings buzzed rapidly behind her. "Not only is he the first Dreamer we've come across in almost a year, he's a Dreamer that survived the Shadow Plague! Do you have any idea what this means?"

The stars bless her, if she wasn't a woman he'd have hopped all over her by now. Aster cracked one eye open from where he lounged, purposefully putting on his most annoyed expression. He had a headache and a sore femur, where his most recent adjustment put more pressure on raw nerves than he'd ever openly admit. The last thing he needed was her sweet voice grating on his long-spent patience. "Yeah. It means he was too much an asshole for even the most deadly virus in this galaxy to kill--what's so great about that?"

Tooth rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to bore you with the scientific details. But that aside, he's Sandy's kinsman. You've seen how the little guy acted around him. At least your people are alive and relatively well, but the Dreamers..." She shook her head with a look of regret. "It is hard to go on without somebody who shares the same background as you, ate the same food, celebrated the same holidays..." She rubbed her arm. "Despite how he acts, I think doctor Black could do a lot of good to Sandy."

He flicked a wave at the presence of North, who entered with his mouth open--at the sight of the two of them, though, his jaw clamped shut and he shook his head. He was wise enough to know to stay out of their way when Tooth and Bunnymund clashed. "He could do a lot of harm, too. He was ready to abandon him as soon as he realized what he was."

He rubbed a paw over his face, trying to picture her naked so maybe he wouldn't feel so much like screaming at her. "I know his type. He'll use Sandy up and spit him out at the first chance he gets. I want him out of here."

"Sandy is neither stupid nor naive," Tooth argued, walking closer. "He's a very good telepath, he'd sense if Black wanted to do harm. I admit, he's pretty grim with the boy, but that could be even a slightly misplaced protective streak. He does have the Plague after all... With us, he'd been rather civil. He has manners, grace," she grinned, "-and he's rather handsome."

Annoyance struck a nerve, amplifying the headache and pain both. Slowly, he lifted up, leaning toward the little princess with his teeth bared into a predatory smile. "That explains it, then. You'd rather take fare another way."

North started to speak up, but Bunnymund just raised his voice. "You gotta new dick to chase, doncha? Those legs of yours just can't stay shut if a new cock is swinging around."

Tooth jerked back as if slapped across the face. Her eyes widened, her lips parted; then her cheeks flushed and her gaze suddenly held murder. "You insolent-!" Her small hand connected with the Pooka's cheek with a surprising force. "Utter those words again, and you won't have anything to walk on!" Literally trembling with anger, she twirled and flitted out, shoving Jack aside who just entered the room.

"Hey-!" he protested , but Tooth didn't even spare him a glance.

North's normally sparkling eyes were now as hard as steel, as he spared a long look to Aster. "You deserved that."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." His jaw hurt. Let it never be said that a woman couldn't hit hard. "Make sure she don't cry all night."

He glanced toward Jack and shrugged lightly, while North went to do damage control. Bunnymund and Toothiana had a little fling a while back, but he was totally over it. He wasn't jealous. "You alright, Jack?"

"She didn't intend to murder _me_," the sprite waved it off. "What did you tell her? I don't even remember seeing Tooth his upset." He flopped down on a couch cross-legged, flipping his datapad into the air a few times. In his other hand, his favorite treat was melting slowly: an ice lolly made from simple flavored water.

"Jus' callin' it as I saw it. She thinks that jerk-off doctor is--" He froze. Ice lollies were easily-made, though most preferred them to be made out of a long, thin mold. Jack, however, liked his to be short and thick, tapered at the tip. Bunnymund swallowed hard as the pink treat dribbled down onto Jack's hand (probably berry-flavored), a veritable Pooka cock ready to be wrapped up in pretty lips. "--uh... han'some. She wants his.."

Bunnymund had to look away, as his own pink Pooka cock began to stir in its sheath. His mouth was dry. "She wants his dick."

"And people call me a jerk! Buns, really-" Jack rolled his eyes with an angry huff, then licked the wetness off his fingers, dragging his tongue along the ice in the process. "She sleeps with whoever she pleases, y'know. What's wrong with you? Being your adorable cranky self is one thing but calling the medic a nympho is another."

He folded his arms over his chest, scowling down at his cybernetic paws and tapping them against the sofa. "I don't like this guy. He's gonna fuck up everything, and she's too far up his ass to see it."

He wished the Jorn would've gotten a different flavor, like chocolate or some dark berry, not the pink. It looked too good when it slid between his lips. "I don't trust him."

"Three days and we'll get rid of him anyway," Jack shrugged. "Unless he's like an axe murderer, we don't really have to worry about it. Sandy's pretty fond of him anyway, and he did take defeat rather well... which is something that can't be said about you." He grinned and sucked the ice into his mouth, his eyes closing in bliss.

"Sandy's fond of everyone." Heat stabbed Bunnymund right in the gut, then spread down to his hips. It wasn't entirely Tooth's fault that they'd parted ways. Both their eyes turned elsewhere, hers to a handsome Atlantean scientist on Limerae, and his to a skinny little Jorn with a penchant for Pooka dick-shaped ice lollys. "Can you -not- do that, please? Shit, Jack!"

An ice-blue eye blinked oped. "Not do what...?" The words were muffled. Jack finally pulled the lolly from his mouth with a slurp and stared at Aster with innocent confusion.

"I'm about to slug ya. Quit suckin' that thing." He leaned forward, buck teeth sinking into one paw. "Yer makin' a huge mess." He'd spent far too much time thinking about this kid, a pretty little thing that would never consider another man or a cybernetic Pooka, at that.

"I _like_ it," Jack said pointedly, but obeyed - he sucked the ice into his mouth then bit down on it, only pulling the stick out. "There," he mumbled, strong teeth crunching on frozen water. "Happy now?"

No. He wasn't, because now he knew that he could fit himself all the way inside without a problem. "..it's fine." Bunnymund pushed his paw over his face. The kid didn't have a clue. "You really need to think about yer molds, okay? That shit looks wrong."

Jack stared at the stick in his hand with a slight frown. One could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "Hmm. It actually does, doesn't it." Then, he grinned. "Buns, you need some."

"Tell me 'bout it." He slumped into the couch, avoiding that innocent little stare. Some "criminal" this kid was--he had no idea how he looked at the moment. Fuckin' Jorns had icicles crammed so far up their asses that even their criminals were well-behaved. And pretty. And brave. And smart. And sexy as hell. Jack could probably fit real nice against Bunny's chest, and as skinny as he was, he'd be wrapped up in fur... "At least pick a better color next time."

The grin intensified. "I might as well color the water too... blue maybe. It'll match my eyyyes." he batted his eyelashes at the Pooka.

If he could've blushed, he would've. He was very grateful for his fur. "Better than wet pink," he grumped. He had no idea what a tease he was. "I didn't think male Jorns liked sweets."

"We like anything until it's chilled," Jack shrugged and leaned back, twirling his datapad in his hands. "But you know that. Heat doesn't really agree with us. Unless it's some special conditions."

"Oh yeah? What sorta special conditions?" He couldn't help himself, arching his back and dragging his paw along the inside of his fuzzy leg suggestively. "I might be able to give ya somethin' to warm up yer tummy."

A slight purplish blush touched the pale cheeks and Jack laughed with a detectable nervous edge to it as he punched Aster in the shoulder amiably. “Haha, stop that... You’re a perv. Maybe you should ask the Black guy to give you something for that itch. Haha.”

The slug could’ve well been aimed toward his gut, for the sudden burst of disappointment that filled him. He knew better.

He’d always known better.

The Pooka shoved Jack in return, rolling his eyes so he wouldn’t have to hold a gaze anymore. “I don’ need his help. I was just jokin’.” 

If his ears were legitimate, they would’ve folded back. Instead, the tips flickered a bright green as he shifted uncomfortably. “Why doncha head on to bed. I’ll take watch t’night.”

“Eh, I don’t know. Don’t feel much like sleeping.” Jack scratched the nape of his neck. “And watch duty is boring. I could keep you company.”

“Yer welcome to it,” he replied in a tone that sounded indifferent, but was mostly used when he was fed-up, offended, or both. He briefly waved a paw, then slid to his feet so he could begin his trek to the medbay. Sexual frustration or not, annoying-ass Princess or not, creepy infected Dreamer or not, he only had to deal with it as long as he forced himself to.

There was a nice painkiller package wrapped up in the supply closets, just waiting for him to tear into it and inject the blessed substance straight into his body.

“I ain’t gonna be much company,” he warned over his shoulder, slumping forward while he retreated down the hall.

He could never actually see Jack’s longing gaze following him.

\----------------------------------------

The slap was satisfying enough to watch that he was certain she’d be alright. But the line of her shoulders and her quick pace gave her away.

She was as dear to him as his next breath, the pretty and intelligent young lady with a quick wit, sweet voice, and heart-breaking smile. He’d do anything to keep her happy.

Even if he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Princess,” he called after her, picking up his pace and reaching to touch her skinny wrist, “Wait.”

Tooth stopped immediately and she sighed loudly. She didn’t turn but she didn’t pull her hand away, either. The brilliant blue-green feathers on her head slowly flattened - her kind puffed up like birds when they were upset.

She didn't shout or try to slap at him, which he took to be a good sign. North approached her with easy, careful steps, his wider hand sliding down to envelop hers in what he hoped was comforting. "He didn't mean it--" Which was a lie. Bunnymund tended to be brutally honest at times like these. "None of us think of you like that."

"Oh yes, you do." Tooth's voice was calm and she kept her head down. "You're right. You're wrong. It's difficult, and Aster spoke the truth, from his point of view." She glanced up and her tiny fingers tightened around North's. "Come with me. You don't have anything left to do today." She tugged him along the dimly lit corridor.

And just when he thought he was failing miserably..!

He swiped a huge arm beneath her knees, knocking her into a seated position so he could scoop her up like she didn't weigh a thing. In his experience, she always seemed to enjoy such antics. "Where to, milady? Your silver steed awaits Her Majesty's orders!"

Tooth covered her mouth with both hands and giggled. "To the engine room. I know it's your favorite place... And it's so warm and cozy. Just what I need right now." She wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face into his beard. The captain took good care of himself; his hair and beard was always nearly brushed and his tanned skin held a faint scent of cologne.

He did his best to suppress a shudder. Toothiana and all her charms did not go unnoticed by Captain North, even for all his trying to view her simply as a child. She was no such thing, as fine a lady as he'd ever seen, but he could lie to himself, couldn't he?

"A fine choice as always," he replied, carting his precious cargo to the one place that was just his. He didn't mind sharing it with her, though. As they descended to the engine room, the air around them grew as warm as a mother's breath.

He often retreated here when his life became too much and his woes could be drowned out by The Guardian's soothing voice. "Times have been difficult. I suppose a tantrum was long overdue for young Bunnymund, don't you?"

"I think he's in pain," Tooth pondered. "I keep working on him to the best of my abilities, but the painkillers... He doesn't take them, I'm sure. Not as much as he should, and I understand why. And he never tells if he's in pain. He definitely doesn't make my job easier." She shook her head. "It's not easy for him, either. It's been a while we last met a Pooka. Our entire crew is composed of homeless misfits." She nuzzled the captain. "'He was worried sick over Sandy. He just snapped, I know. But what he said still stings."

He settled down with the delicate creature in his arms, his massive body cushioned by a stack of blankets and pillows he'd dragged down over many a sleepless night. "He's stubborn a Pooka as they come, so if he's hurting or lonely, he'd rather lash out than deal with it."

Gently, he slid his fingers over the tiny crest of feathers nearest the crown of her head. The feathers were soft and silky, delicate tendrils clinging to his skin. "Don't pay him any mind. He might've been worried, but I think he might be a little jealous, too." He gave a bright smile, nudging her gently.

She ducked her head under the caressing hand. "That's the problem, isn't it? Most races in the galaxy are monogamous. My race is ruled by females, and they keep slave harems." Which wasn't nearly as gruesome as it sounded. Male slaves, both Molora's native sons and handsome specimen of other species weren't treated bad; they were to attend to the household chores and look after the children while the females worked. Most often, they were released after a certain while if they wished to go.

"I'm breeding age, and my genetics push me into seeking mates," Tooth sighed. "Yes, I sleep with a lot of men. Yes, I slept with the crew. Yes, I DID consider approaching doctor Black as well... That does sound like a whore, doesn't it." Her hand lightly swept over the captain's broad chest, fingertips mapping out the crystal shard pendant hiding under the red tunic.

"You cared for them." He swallowed hard, chest hitching just slightly underneath her fingertips. "I know you love Bunnymund, Jack..."

Teasingly, he kissed her forehead. "You love Sandy. Why does that make you a whore?" North's thumb slid over the bridge of her nose, then across his her soft cheek. "You don't owe an explanation to anyone for what you choose to do. You're a strong and intelligent woman, and how you decide to show your affection is not for anyone else to judge."

"I know," Tooth whispered. "I've done nothing wrong, nothing shameful. It's just how people see things. Convictions, conventions. Traditions. How I hate them." She kneeled up, basically standing on North's strong thighs.

"Never doubt that I love you, too. You can always make me feel better." She cupped his strong jaw and leaned closer, to gently kiss the corner of his mouth.

He wanted her. He knew that when he inhaled her beautiful scent, felt her soft lips on his, held her slight body against his chest. North slid his hand around to touch the back of her waist, knowing well that he could show her just exactly how he could make her feel even better.

His eyes slid shut and he allowed himself the contact just long enough so he'd remember what it felt like. "And I love you.. but it's rather late. I really should go to sleep," he murmured, voice hoarse and pained.

She smiled. "It's not that late... But, if you're tired, I'm not going to keep you. A ship captain has so many responsibilities." She kissed him again, soft lips pressing against his skin, leaving just the tiniest wet spot.

Desire spiked within his chest, leaving him breathless from just the tiniest act of affection. Just what had become of Nicholas North, the feared mercenary and lover of all women? Here he was, falling to pieces just at a kiss..

But it wasn't just any kiss, was it?

"That he does. Keeping up on his beauty rest is one of them." As always, he passed it off as a joke, fondly ruffling her head feathers as he maneuvered out from under her. The loss of her warmth was more noticeable than he'd have liked. "Don't stay up much longer, lass." He winked. "Captain's orders."

She straightened her back and saluted properly. "Aye, aye. Sweet dreams, Captain!" She smiled sweetly and waved after him.

However, as the door closed, her face fell and the punched a pillow rapidly, with much fury. "Dammit!"

She waited for several minutes until he was sure the captain was back in his room, then slipped out, tiptoeing along the corridor. She threw a glance at the door sealing Doctor Black's room, but then she shook her head and disappeared into her own hideaway.

It was going to be a long night.

\-----------------------------------------

_Dreamers feel happiness like no other beings in the universe. Joy begins not with the beauty their eyes behold or the words that charm the ear, but with the soul. Kindness, inner beauty, selflessness, goodness, gentleness--all of these things manifest simply as Right. They are an equilibrium that is as satisfying to experience as to share._

Sandy remembered his father's explanations well when he woke before the others, the words and images warm in his heart as when they'd first been shared. Many of the races perceived time as a rigid machine, but for him it was not so. The universe breathed. When She exhaled, it was time to rest. When She inhaled, it was time to rise; so he did.

Small feet on the floor, then head to the ceiling. He stretched his hands as high as he could in a morning ritual to gently wake each part of his body before trying to move. It was always a wonderful feeling to greet the day in this way, but -this- day was the best yet. Finally, he both slept and rested, and he could feel the difference in every slight twist of his limbs. His mind was free of its haze, open and warm like it should've always been. From his location in the sleeping quarters, he could feel Captain North's strength as the heartbeat that fueled them all, steady and strong as a drumbeat.

As he ambled into the hallway, Bunnymund's instinct and awareness were their unfaltering senses (sight, smell, sound, touch!); Jack and his spirit carried them along, the air to their lungs and the blood to their hearts; forever their mind, Toothiana's intelligence kept them on course and her love for them kept each man close to her side. Sandy was never sure where he fit in this family. He knew he belonged (somehow) yet he never had an answer for himself.

Doctor Pitch Black, however, just might.

He was dressed in his favorite loose robe, a lightweight yellow fabric that restricted none of his deliberate, easy movements. In his mind's eye, he could see which ingredients he would need for this special, special day:

Eggs. Many eggs.  
Sugar, too.  
Thickening agent, a nice starch perhaps?  
Plenty of syrup...

His tiny hand wrapped around a worn bottle, the label long-faded from age. Inside was the last of Starrose, an herb that his mother once grew in her cooking garden. It was savory-sweet, the taste of rich fruit and humid nectar that even the Jorns had been unable to replicate; it grew in weeping pink stalks, snowing its own roots in yellow, crystalline buds in the winter and drawing butterflies to its thick scent in the summer. Nigh impossible to get now, he'd rationed it out over the years. He could make out the tiny flakes inside--just enough for a special day like this.

He smiled and hugged the precious bottle to his chest. Pitch fit here, too, as much as no one else seemed to believe it. He was Reason personified, the very being to stop the body, heart, and mind from simply reacting. He was coolness and thought, patience and logic, just as necessary as breathing. Sandy admired him very much.

_Dreamers experience happiness like no other beings in the Universe._

He tied his handmade apron around his waist, pushed a stool to the stove, and began to quietly crack the eggs.

_The only thing better than experiencing happiness is sharing that happiness with others._

\-------------------------------------

About an hour later, the scent of baking wafted through the ship. Spiced fruit simmered merrily on the stovetop, the sugary and meat-free dishes of the Dreamer culture slowly made ready for the entire crew to enjoy.

Bunnymund, who had been up all night poked his head into the kitchen area, sniffing and yawning, pouring himself some fruit juice and settling down by the table. He was less fond of sweet things, especially sugar, but watching Sandy preparing a meal was more interesting than gazing into space. Now that he was awake, the pilot could sense ill intent miles away.

North was the first to emerge, shirtless this time, showing off his tanned skin that bore ink and scars alike - aside formidable muscles. He obviously took a shower and was wide awake, happy to see the little Dreamer up and about. 

“That smells lovely, little one,” he commented and rubbed Sandy’s shoulders. The young Dreamer beamed and tipped his head back, sharing a mindful of bright, cheerful images. “It makes quite an appetite.” Knowing that the sugary meal won’t be enough to feed all of them fully, he rummaged through the fridge for something more substantial. The Dreamer food was going to be a dessert.

Tooth flitted out next, throwing a flat glance at Bunnymund but not making remarks. She pulled some milk and after taking a good look at what Sandy was making, she fetched some nuts to chop them up. Being more or less a bird, she prefered a calcium-rich diet.

Jack showed up as well, with a large, wet towel draped over his naked shoulders - his way to stay cool when outside his suit. 

As he slid by to get a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator, he had to dodge a very tired-looking, very dejected Pooka. The grey mass of fur hesitated behind Tooth, then slid to sit on the stool beside her. “Um.. hay.”

“Morning, sunshine.” Tooth graced him with a lopsided smile. “How’s your jaw?”

He grunted, but the flickering tips of his ears showed he didn’t mind taking that verbal hit. “Feels like I got smacked in the face with a wrench, actually.” After fidgeting with his paws for a moment, he added: “Ya probably gotta mean right hook.”

“I’ll make sure to test it, shall the need arise,” she nodded, pouring the chopped almonds into a bowl. “Now, in case you’d like to apologize, it is accepted, just don’t do it again. Try not to get into such a foul mood. You know that if something hurts, you should tell me. I might be able to fix that.”

North smiled behind the rim of his coffee mug and Jack hid his grin with his towel.

Bunnymund pretended not to notice, though he muttered something into his paw before reaching to grab his coffee. Likely, it was an “okay”. “...new implant pinches..”

“I’ll see to it first after breakfast.” 

The semi-transparent kitchen door briefly darkened then slid aside, revealing the doctor. Pitch nodded to the crew and strolled to the fridge. “May I?” he inquired, aiming it at the captain, who nodded. “Make yourself at home, doctor.”

With a surprising ease, Black fetched a mug, coffee, poured some milk in it then stopped. He sniffed, frowned and turned to Sandy. “Do I smell... starrose? Just what are you making?”

To a non-Dreamer, Pitch's tone and body language suggested pure aggression. Sandy, however, presented the tall, dark stranger with a wide, toothy smile. All at once, the crew had their answer:

_Island in the Sky. I hope you're hungry!_

His little hands disappeared into oven mitts that were obviously meant for a man of North's size, and after pulling down the oven door, the kitchen was washed in a spicy-sweet scent. Normally, Sandy asked for assistance in maneuvering the baking sheet from the racks (as he was a rather short person), but today, he just went about the whole process on his own.

When he turned, he showed off five pillow-shaped pastries; they were sky blue, fat in the middle, and oozed a creamy substance onto the pan. He waddled across the kitchen, and on tiptoe, slid his creation onto two waiting potholders.

"But we only make those-" Pitch hastily downed half the contents of his mug. "Now that we're on topic, I'd like to ask permission to disable the smoke detector in my room. I need to smoke."

North blinked, eyeing Sandy over his cup. The lad looked stunned, his amber gaze flicking quickly to Pitch, then down to the floor. He felt disappointment like a mouthful of cotton, but as quickly as it'd come, it faded.

Sandy, apparently, was becoming quite skilled in covering what he didn't want to share.

"Oh, ah.." The captain moved to pat Sandy's head, but to his surprise, the gesture was avoided. "Of course. Bunnymund and I have done the same thing. Do you need any help?"

"Unfortunately, you can't provide the type of help I'd need," Pitch announced gravely, then smoothed out his black robe. The softly shimmering garment was obviously custom tailored; the hips flared a bit and the fabric clung to the thin body underneath. The neckline was also rather low.

"I'll manage, thank you. Or if not, I'll be sure to ask for assistance. I don't want to mess anything up." He settled down at the farthest edge of the table, sipping his coffee.

The spring in his step was gone, but Sandy kept a smile plastered to his face as he carefully slid the pastries onto a plate each. As was customary, he served their guest first.

"That's thoughtful of ya, considering what you've fucked up already," Bunnymund muttered, his paws wrapped tight around a glass of carrot juice. A yelp followed. "What the hell?!"

Sandy stood with his hand poised threateningly for another pinch, his cheeks puffed out as he shook his head. "..sorry, little man."

Satisfied, Sandy continued his rounds, placing a sugary-sweet pastry in front of the crew.

Tooth took sour cream and a bottle of milk and poured a generous amount for both North and herself. Sandy's cooking was always delicious, truly well-done, but usually so sugary that their tongues tended to stick to the roof of their mouths. Dairy mellowed it a bit and made the sweets quite enjoyable. Jack was the only one who didn't have a problem, at least not right away. He would eat any sugary treat, then slip into a blissful, coma-like sleep for an hour or so until his body burned off the energy. One just had to make sure he was put to a cold place.

Pitch ignored the intermezzo, and with some reluctance, he took a fork and carefully cut off a bite from the azure pastry. Golden, fruity filling spilled on the plate engulfing the kitchen with the scent of summer. Pitch carefully tasted it-

His eyes fluttered shut and he sighed with a small smile. A wave of deep satisfaction swept over everybody, then Pitch stirred and threw the crew an apologetic glance. "Sorry about that."

Sandy was halfway onto his stool when he felt it; immediately, his joy became palpable, and when he took his spot at Pitch's side, it was with a pleased grin on his soft cheeks.

He latched onto the counter and wriggled in attempt to scoot closer, his short legs kicking rapidly for a bit more momentum. 

"So you -do- smile, Doctor Black." North had to pause after his bite, the sweetness enough to make his eyes cross. He'd had starrose just a few times before this, but growing used to the taste was still something he had to grasp.

_I'mhappyI'msohappyI'msohappy!!!_

Sandy's eyes sparkled, though he ducked his head shyly as he began cutting into breakfast. He looked ready to burst.

Pitch actually looked embarrassed. He reached out, seemingly rather absent-mindedly, to help the boy, then took his fork. "I may be a criminal and lack the empathic ability , but I'm not a heartless bastard." He glanced at Sandy. "Calm down, little one. Your cooking is indeed rather good, leave it at that."

He clasped his tiny hand over his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment of deep concentration, the delighted sensation began to wane in the others, words settling down to the occasional fluctuation of pride. 

"I meant no offense, Doctor." North chuckled at the two, pausing to take a sip of hot coffee. "You're just rather serious, and I was under the impression you hated every moment here."

"You look better when you relax," Jack added, his mouth full of fruit and creme.

"It IS hard for an advanced telepath to be so crammed up with people, who... broadcast," Pitch mentioned, taking another bite.

"Sandy never complains--" Jack pointed out.

_I'm not advanced at all. I haven't even gone through the Dreamcatching--_

Three pairs of eyes fixed on him, as embarrassment quickly replaced his giddiness in an instant. His golden skin took on a rosy hue, and after an awkward moment, the lad chose not to elaborate further.

Jack's nose wrinkled. He'd managed to land a glob of creme on his chin, but didn't appear to be aware of it. Someone in the room, however, noticed rather quickly. "..oookaaay, uh. How do we make things more comfortable for you?"

"Stop thinkin', probably." Bunnymund looked down at his plate, brows creased. "Not that it's a problem fer you, Jack."

Pitch made a tiny sound that could have been a muffled giggle. "I'll manage. I've had worse. And I have no right to meddle with your personal affairs."

Tooth's eyes went a bit glassy.

"You're a dick, Buns." The Jorn shook his fork at the offender, then resumed stuffing his face. "I was bein' nice to the good Doctor here."

North thought it wise to change the subject, and clapped his wide hand against Jack's shoulder. The non-Dreamers were indeed having difficulty ingesting this amount of sweet. "Doctor, you mentioned earlier that this dish is only made at a certain time..? Is it seasonal?"

Sandy perked, ready to reply, but glanced to Pitch, inviting him to answer first.

The dark Dreamer sighed. "Not as much as seasonal... It's a dish for special occasions. We use starrose sparingly, because it is hard to cultivate, and most was exported, being a delicacy. We're probably eating something right now that worths about as much as this ship." He glanced at Sandy. "You shouldn't have done it."

From across the table, Bunnymund forced another sweet bite into his mouth. Guilt seemed to temper the taste enough for him to choke it down.

_This was as good an occasion as any._

Sandy looked back at him, flashing both a smile and a brief feeling of warmth. His hand twitched, like he wanted to touch Pitch, too.

"Starrose.. Lad, I didn't know you had any." North watched the exchange in amusement, then caught sight of Sandy grabbing Tooth's hand instead. "Well, he's right. It's been a long time since we've had such an interesting passenger!"

“You shouldn’t get used to it,” Pitch frowned, but more sadly than angrily. “I still intend to leave as soon as possible. I am a wanted criminal and I don’t want to put you all at risk. Your generosity is remarkable. Few would grant me with transport without charging a small fortune.”

"Well, if ya feel we ain't chargin' enough," Bunnymund teased, flashing his buck teeth in a very Pooka-esque grin.

Sandy flinched, but after a moment, puffed out his chest and took his cup of milk in both hands.

_Then for the time we have, let us make merry. Even if you must leave us, I will call you friend._

He held up his cup for a toast, his face flushed. Very rarely did he draw so much attention to himself.

Jack, North and Tooth immediately raised their own glasses. Bunny grudgingly joined a little later and finally, Pitch carefully clinked his mug to Sandy's as well. "Thank you."

\----------------------------------------

North thought it was a good idea, perfectly reasonable and practical. It had been years since Sandy had a proper check-up, with another Dreamer to explore his mind instead of just frowning at the shape of his body. Doctor Black was clearly skilled in his craft, but still, Isander Ausmyth found himself terribly nervous as he approached the temporarily-inhabited bedroom.

As was polite, he made his intentions known before ever reaching the door. Doctor Black was so skilled, he probably knew of this little mission before Sandy ever took his first step out of the kitchen!

_The stars bless your soul and shine upon your heart. May I be permitted entrance?_

He hesitated before adding:

My purpose is strictly business-related.

" _Drop that formal tone, child._ " The door slid open, revealing the rather bleak passenger room. It was easier to keep it like this, since occupants came and went; there was an option to display holographic images on the walls and those alone did a lot to liven up the room. It just looked like Pitch didn't deem it necessary.

"Come in, sit down. Where should we start?" He was wearing his robe and probably nothing beneath it - as per Dreamer custom. Some things tended to linger, apparently. Pitch just set his long pipe aside, extinguishing the smoldering contents. Some faint, fragrant, somewhat herbal scent lingered in the air.

"Apologies for that, I hope the smoke doesn't bother you too much."

_I was hoping you'd be able to give me a proper look, to ensure all will go well when I try my Dreamcatching._

He resisted the very non-Dreamer need to bite his fingers or squirm. Being naturally passive, he couldn't understand why another person, especially one of his own kind, seemed so disgusted with him.

_I am almost 50 solar cycles, and I plan to attempt my Dreamcatching as soon as I turn._

How he was going to manage it alone, he didn't know. But, his father always told him that all that was meant to be would come to pass, so he tried not to worry too much.

_You're welcome to continue._

A lonely ache pulled at his heart.

_I've missed that scent very much._

Pitch glanced at the dying embers in the ashtray. It wasn't a rare blend, just a characteristically Dreamer take on it. Maybe one of the boy's family smoked it, too-

"No need to rush, those things come to you in time." He got up and settled down next to the boy. "The Dreamcatching is a controlled dream. Once you turn, you start to meditate before falling asleep. It probably won't work right away, and you don't have to try every night. It just happens. You don't need much assistance with it."

He nodded, genuinely appreciative of the advice. It was still difficult to hear, since his people took this rite of passage very seriously. The Dreamcatching was arguably the most important transition of their long lives, something to be shared and prided upon when at last they discovered their true purpose.

He'd never heard of any Dreamer going it alone. Then again, they rarely did anything alone prior to the Shadow Plague.

_Thank you. That makes me feel much better._

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he resisted the need to -touch-, craving the skin-on-skin contact that would let this all go a bit easier. His hands twitched.

_Am I.. normal?_

"Why wouldn't you be?" There was an underlying surprise accompanying the words. Pitch arched an eyebrow. "As far as I can tell, you're every bit a Dreamer. Your mind feels developed enough and your body looks healthy - but if you have complaints, do share them. We work differently than most species so I wouldn't be surprised if no doctor could treat you." The long-fingered hands lightly rested on the round shoulders. "Do not worry. Isolation does things to us, but you had the crew. You weren't completely alone. I know it was hard, but you still managed. For somebody so young, it's an accomplishment."

Uncertainty flowed between them like a gentle tide, his gaze wavering.

_I don't feel ill, but.. I am afraid sometimes. I reach out and no one answers; I've called out as far as I can sometimes, but no one can hear me._

Those hands felt so nice. He pushed a small fist against one eye and breathed in sharp, swallowing back his sorrow. He'd never explained himself to anyone before.

_I know there aren't many of us left, so it's foolish to try. My friends make me happy. I should be grateful. But.. I feel so alone._

Scrubbing the hot, wet liquid away, he ducked his head. Shame blossomed in his mind, turning his sanctuary to a desert hidden under shadow.

_Forgive me. You've been far more isolated than I have, so I shouldn't feel this way at all._

It was a curious thing, to lack empathy. Pitch ripped it from his own mind willingly, out of despair, anger and bitter sadness, and he was, in all honesty, horrified by how much easier life seemed without it. But freedom came with a price: he didn't belong anymore. Freedom is, as they say, often a lonely thing.

It didn't mean that he had no emotions. He still loved and hated, still yearned. Still suffered. Before, however, he was largely motivated by compassion. It was essential for a Dreamer healer. Before, he would've been moved to tears by the boy's emotions.

And despite his altered mind, with empathy ripped from him... he still felt for Sandy. Pitch was intelligent; Dreamers were a smart race. He knew that the boy went through the same stages of suffering as he had. They both lost loved ones. They were both forced out of their homes. They both yearned for contact - no matter how well Pitch hid that desire. The knowledge of the shared misery substituted compassion. It was something he tried to repress - compassion led to emotional ties, then attachment and he had that go horribly wrong before. But from time to time, he found himself caring. And right now, he couldn't find the strength to fight it. This was just a lost boy, so much like-

"Don't blame yourself," Pitch murmured softly. "You're young. You were left alone without guidance when you needed it most - it's only natural that you tried to get help. Don't be ashamed. You're allowed to feel insecure. The most important event of your life is just ahead of you; I don't think there was ever a Dreamer who could face it without fear." His hand moved by itself, around in soothing circles over the boy's back. Pitch attempted to label it as muscle memory.

The boy's mind unfurled against his, a soft stroke of pale tendrils. He was desperate for contact. Pitch could tell even without his Dreamer empathy, without his great intelligence. He was staring at someone on the verge of collapse, barely holding on though he covered it all with a sunny smile.

Sandy moved into his arms. He smelled sweet, like vanilla and jasmine, his hair brushing across the doctor's jaw. The boy hugged Pitch around the neck and pressed his body close, with his face tucked just under his chin like a child would.

_So lonely.. You're lonely, too._

Emotions flowed wildly through the both of them.

_You're beautiful._

_I'm scared._

_What's going to happen to us?_

_Am I going to be alone forever?_

_Please don't go._

It was impossible to not react. Despite all his cool detachment, Pitch found his throat tightening and his eyes getting wet. Will they be alone forever...? Yes. The cruel truth was that yes, they were going to be alone until the day a miracle happens and somebody figures out a cure for the Shadow Plague.

There were barely enough Dreamers left to fill a moderately sized city, and they slept on Iridia in stasis, bodies frozen into time, not allowing them to change, get infected, get worse. It was the only solution. Loved ones were not coming back like that. And a Dreamer alone was something that wasn't supposed to happen; they were a social race, dependent on contact, to retain their mental health. It was sort of a miracle Sandy was still sane.

No child should be alone.

_"I can't stay, little one, you know that as well as I. I am darkness. I am trouble. You need other Dreamers instead a shadow. Your friends are kind and understanding, they'll help you find those few still awake. You'll do fine. The Dreamcatching will broaden your abilities, you'll be able to get what you need. There are telepaths aside us, they could help you. Don't abandon hope. Believe in the future."_

His grief knotted itself tightly around the both of them, but beneath it all was a tiny beacon of hope. Though easily missed at first, it shone like a candle in the darkness. With each word Pitch spoke, it grew brighter and brighter, until at last he understood that he alone fed this child's hope. He, with all his flaws, his curses, his darkness, eased the fear enough he physically felt the body against his relax.

Wet lashes fluttered against his throat. Sandy seemed reluctant to let him go.

_I don't think you're trouble._

Those little fingers brushed gently up the nape of his neck, to stroke his hairline before burying themselves in black strands.

_I grew up near the Silver Crescent bay, where the stars shone brightest. I remember once, before the Plagues came, I was afraid because storms had been raging for days. They turned the skies black as ink, so it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night._

A breath rushed over his shoulder.

_Then the moon broke through. The light was soft, so beautiful, and beneath it, everything was so calm and peaceful. When you came for me, it was like being home again. The moment I heard your voice, I felt whole. I knew I could be brave. I knew I could be strong. I never wanted your light to fade._

"I know,” the quiet reply came. Of course he did, the boy couldn't hide his emotions very well. And it's not that it didn't make Pitch a little happy, too. But being in a Dreamer's mind... it dragged forth memories, of cities, beautiful landscapes and loved ones; and the pain of the loss gnawed at his heart. He didn't want to feel it.

His smile remained, joy and warmth radiating from him in bursts of unseen light. There was uncertainty, too, because Pitch certainly was a true Dreamer no longer, but beyond that, hope rang out as clear as a bell.

_You're beautiful, no matter what the Plague did to you, or what you had to do to survive._

He hesitated, then his small hand cupped Pitch’s face.

_I don't have to be an empath to know you're hurting. I'm no doctor, but I can try to ease the pain a little._

Pitch closed his eyes. It was a silly habit; ever since he was little, closing his eyes was the first attempt to shut out anything he didn't want to deal with. He wanted to scream, to lash out on the boy, but he couldn't do harm to somebody so young and innocent.

It's been so long he ever bonded with another. Dreamers were out of the question and he haven't met anybody who was worthy of it. It was hard to bear, but he managed. He thought he'll never have the chance again - and now it was offered to him on a silver platter.

Pitch knew that eventually, he'll get mad without mental contact, but at the same time, he was not sure that satisfying the need won't make life unbearable. He had no idea if his mind would settle, or beg for more, making him weak and vulnerable. _"My mind is a scary place. Trust me, you don't want to see the things I did."_

Fingers curled around on of Pitch's, encircling the index finger fearlessly. Sandy took it upon himself to keep pressing, even when aware of the danger he faced. This Dreamer could hurt him badly. As easily as he drew him from his own mind, Pitch Black could lock him into that prison again. The boy was at his feet, swathed in soft fabric and the scent of sweets, and with all the maddening persistence in the universe, he laid his cheek in the palm of Pitch's hand. 

_I'm not afraid of you._

The words echoed in a soft melody, curling and forming shapes of golden sand in the mind's eye.

_Alone we are strong, but together, we can be stronger. You saved me; let me try to heal your broken pieces._

_"You should be afraid._ " Golden eyes met amber and Pitch established a link with ease. Making sure the seals on his memories were tight, he - carefully though - poured his pain and grief, loneliness, anger and hatred into the boy. _"This is what you want to deal with. Do you think you can face it? Do you think you can stand it?"_

Sandy's face was impassive at first, as his mind opened up with eagerness. It was frightening, and a little sad, how desperate he was for mental contact. As the darkness slid inside, his brows furrowed and his mouth pinched with pain. Fear lapped at the edges of his mind, but with it came butterfly kisses that encircled the bitterness with childlike determination. 

_..yes. I'll do this for you._

His fingers curled tight, while in his mind, Isander slowly accepted the dark clouds and stroked them with soft rays of sunshine.

The dark man's lips trembled; his long fingers curled around Sandy's wrist. He couldn't help it. He was losing control over himself; his mind, his soul strained eagerly for that light, that warmth, that acceptance, something that was denied from him for so long... The boy was wise and mature far beyond his years; he probably had seen a lot as well. The dark body all but switched to autopilot, arms encircling the chubby frame, hands fisting into loose clothes. _"I am not going to stay,_ " he offered as a last warning.

Small arms curled around his neck, soft cheek pressed to angular bones and lashes tickling as Sandy relaxed in his arms. Disappointment reared its ugly head, screaming through their minds on a desert wind, but Sandy quieted it to the note of a flute. Inside, hands touched the sorest places they could reach. They eased him open. They laid him bare. They spread him out on warm sand and stroked through stains and scars, paying no attention to the dark blood that dirtied them for now. Sandy thought him beautiful, and never let the words fade while he buried himself inside Pitch's secrets.

_I know._

Outside, tears fell from his closed eyes, but he didn't slow--not for a moment.

Clothes were loosened and pried off, light-colored as well as dark; for the dreamers, nakedness only meant familiarity. Kisses and caresses on bare skin did not raise lust without the specific intention. Once there was nothing between them other than air, Pitch tugged the boy closer and brushed their lips together. Inside, he bathed in the light, soaked it up, let it warm him. _"Slowly, little one. Stay away from the darkest corners, do not pry. Just let me inside. Let me lead."_

Their bodies recycled heat. Isander breathed out quietly against his lips, sharing knowledge inside that he'd never felt anything quite like it before. Persistent and insufferable as he was, he was an obedient, eager little pupil. Where he spread out to explore this new world, he now drew in bright butterfly wings and twisted them around. They circled Pitch in hundreds of arms, and whispered of acceptance, appreciation. 

_You're not alone anymore._

Sandy was going to give all that he had to make sure this bond both healed and satisfied.

While they lay snuggled close on soft pillows in the real world, hands sliding over skin, tongues entwined, inside their shared mindspace, they were dancing. Golden sand and butterflies entwined with inky shadows and raven wings; they spun around in circles, melding, separating then melding again. Pain faded away, leaving only joy, a sense of completion. There was pleasure, too, but it remained contained. Their bodies were calm even though their minds were slipping into blissful ecstasy.

He kept up best he could. It was so much at once, as every thought, every feeling he had was drawn in like a breath, then wrapped up in all that was Pitch. Sandy held fast and replied in kind, surging forward to slip graceful lines through dark fingers, then gripping tight when the tides ebbed and he was overwhelmed again. In Pitch's arms, his small body quaked slightly, as if an icy finger had dragged itself down his back. He was peaking fast, and had only mind enough to hold off so his Bonder could reach new heights, too.

The flurry of light and pleasure escalated; Pitch knew that the boy was barely holding on, being young and inexperienced. He took one last dive into bliss then wrapped himself around the innocent consciousness and soared with him. _"Concentrate. Feel me. Feel the joy. Let it go..._ " The instructions were impulses rather than words. Pitch dragged them higher and higher until he reached the breaking point, where falling was the only option.

There came flashes of white hot heat, which scorched them both before they fell from the sun. Sandy opened himself wide and shared it all--what he felt, and how it felt to be a part of Pitch. It blinded him. Warming the Dreamer and being warmed by him, touching him and being touched, being in his arms and being held by him; he told him everything in bursts of sensation. Sandy was drowning not only in his own pleasure, but in the reflection of pleasure from Pitch's sultry mind. As he let himself go, he offered one more melody as soft as dust on the breeze.

_This is me. This is you. This is us. This is what I feel, and I feel this because of you._

His memory was near flawless, yet he could not recall feeling like this before. The Melding crested first, a wave of sensation that drew back to leave him parched and suffocated, naked and helpless. He felt it quake within his limbs, an approaching roar to nullify thought and speech. It arced high over him, as he sobbed without shedding a tear, then in an instant, he was overwhelmed. _Pleasurepainpleasurepleasuregodyestheregoodgoodheatwarmlightsomuchlight.. Somuchlight..._

Pitch breathed once and began to drown.

He felt like he was lost out at sea, but behind his eyelids and in his mind's eye, the ocean was full of stars. They weren't just above him; they circled all around him and loved him fully with their light. Every inch of him was bathed in luminescence; even the darkest, most terrifying places inside caught a glimpse of his momentary paradise. For a moment, he was whole.

Coming down was not so spectacular. From the ocean and sky he fell into a blissful haze. Light turned into a soft glow, then wrapped itself around him with arms that should've been too small to reach. Words echoed between his ears: gratitude, admiration, pleasure received, pleasure given, warmth, adoration, fulfillment, joy, happiness. Perfection.

The Meld faded with what seemed like reluctance, a sensation of a sheer curtain kissing a dying summer breeze. He felt kisses on his lips as their minds slowly untangled.

When he opened his eyes, the Youngling was fast asleep. Bliss etched itself into a smile on his wide mouth, while youth made itself known on his flushed cheeks and wild hair. He'd likely been thrashing during their Meld--proof enough that Pitch hadn't lost his touch. Isander--Sandy, they called him--had small arms and hands that were smaller still, the chubby fingers curled into loose fists in front of his portly little body. Their kind felt no shame when it came to their physical forms, as the beauty of the mind only mattered; however, Pitch still found pride in that even after years spent among uncertain, self-conscious humans, this Youngling could not be tainted by their fear.

He watched him sleep, ignoring his own urge to recoup so that he could drink in this sight. It had been ages since he'd Melded with such an enthusiastic partner. Pitch gave a sardonic half-smirk. Ha, it'd been ages since he'd Melded with -anyone-, which was likely the reason for his sentimental introspection. There were a few vestigial strands of dreamsand lingering in his subconscious, as a sleeping infant clings to a finger or strand of hair. With utmost care, he eased those from his mind.

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(Feel free to contact the authors if you want to play in the sandbox)


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